Iron and Magic

On the flip side, Hugh’s sample mortar refused to set, and nobody knew why. Elara’d been going over the budget requests and she’d seen him through the window down in the trench, mixing the mortar over and over. She’d had breakfast, then lunch, then dinner, and he was still there. Hugh had finally come in, chased indoors by darkness. He’d spent sixteen hours in that trench, then went out with the salvage party first thing in the morning. The Iron Dogs had been raiding the forest ruins, dragging in every scrap of valuable salvage they could find to offset the costs of the moat and the new siege engines they assembled on the towers.

They’d both had their hands full and had no reason to interact. Until now.

“The weapons and the beer,” she explained. “Is that a good idea to have both available to Rufus’s people?”

“The weapons are welded together,” Hugh told her. “If they manage to pry them from the wall, it won’t do them any good. I’m not about to arm drunken idiots.”

Well, at least he was sensible.

Five women walked into the hall and lined up in front of them, all young and pretty, with flowers in their hair, and wearing floral print wrap dresses that hinted at cleavage and revealed just enough leg without suggesting anything. Kelly and Irene’s tattoos were showing, a skull with arcane script above Kelly’s left breast and a wolf ripping apart a human heart on Irene’s right shoulder, but there was no help for that.

“What are these?” Hugh asked.

“Serving wenches. For your beer.”

Hugh squinted. “Irene? Serana?”

The Iron Dogs snapped to attention. “Preceptor!”

“You stole my hand-to-hand experts,” Hugh said.

“Borrowed.”

He eyed the other women. “What do the rest of you do?”

Kelly pointed at herself then at the other two women in turn. “Witch, witch, pagan with a shichidan in judo. That’s a …”

“Seventh dan black belt,” Hugh said. “Okay, you will do.”

“Remember, we need their money,” Elara said. “Don’t maim anyone if you can help it.”

The serving wenches took positions around the barrel.

“Where are you putting Fortner?” Hugh asked.

“You and I are going to sit in the middle of the head table, with me on your left. He will sit across from us with his people. I’m keeping Dugas and Johanna on my side. The rest is up to you.”

He nodded. “I’ll put the centurions on my right.”

“Do you want Fortner’s people all at our table so it would be easier for the marksmen to shoot them? I don’t think we can fit all of them in.”

He considered it. “No, let’s split them between the three tables.”

Elara surveyed the hall. It was almost done. The beer barrel was full, the places set, the food was nearly cooked. Everything had to go smoothly. If they lost Rufus, they’d lose the chance at business contacts in Lexington. They needed the contacts, the money and their influence.

“Food, decorations, beer,” she rubbed her forehead. “What am I forgetting?”

“Herbal samples,” he said.

“We have them ready in the Florida room. I don’t think he’ll be looking at them until tomorrow anyway. Did you double the patrols?”

“Yes. And I put extra marksmen on the balcony.”

She glanced up to where a narrow balcony ran along one wall of the room. Nice. Fortner would be sitting with his back to them. If anything went wrong…

If anything went wrong, they were as ready as they were going to be.

A commotion broke out at the doors. Johanna walked in, flanked by three Iron Dogs and Sam. A line of blood stretched from Sam’s scalp, running down his temple into his hair.

Hugh and Elara moved at the same time.

“What happened?” Elara asked.

“Aberdine does not want our help,” Johanna reported.

“They met us on the road,” an older female Iron Dog reported. “They made a road block.”

“Cops?” Hugh asked.

“Civilians,” Sam said. “They said Aberdine is a good Christian town and they didn’t need any help from devil worshippers.”

Of all the idiotic… “What happened to your head?” Elara demanded.

“Someone threw a rock.” Sam shrugged.

“We withdrew,” the female Iron Dog said. “It was that or kill the lot.”

Hugh looked at Sam. “You’ll live. Next time someone throws a rock, duck.” He raised his hands and signed. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Sam took my rock. He moved in front of me, so it hit him instead,” Johanna signed.

Anger boiled in Elara. “Marcus!”

Marcus turned to her. “Yes?”

“Stop all shipments to Aberdine.”

“Okay,” Marcus said.

She turned to Sam. “Don’t you worry. Nobody does this to our people. They’ll come crawling back to us in a week.”

“I doubt they’ll run out of cough tea in a week,” Hugh said.

“They’ll have plenty of tea,” she told him. “But we supply all of their wine and most of their beer. As of today, Aberdine is a dry town. They’ll be back with their hats in hand. Just wait.”

Nicole ran into the hall. “The guests are coming!”

Hugh turned to her and grinned. “It’s show time.”

“And then!” Stoyan waved his cup, pretending to be drunker than he was. “Then the Preceptor says, ‘To hell with it, we’ll burn it.’”

The table broke into thunderous laughter.

Hugh cracked a smile. Elara smiled, too, watching Rufus Fortner. He was a big bear of a man, a couple of inches over six feet and at least two hundred and fifty pounds. He was in his fifties, but time didn’t soften him, it just made him grizzled. His shoulders barely fit through the door. Caucasian, with skin tanned by sun and weather, Rufus had one of those masculine faces that looked overly exaggerated: square, jutting chin; massive jaw; short, broad nose; prominent eyebrows; narrow blue eyes. His mustache, which he kept trimmed, was still red, but his hair and beard had gone gray.

He was into his fifth beer and he appeared to be enjoying himself.

Rufus raised his mug. “Beer me!”

Make that sixth.

Irene dipped a pitcher into the barrel of beer, glided over, and refilled the mug.

“Thanks, sweetness.”

Irene moved out of his way.

Elara glanced around the table. The six guardsmen Fortner had sat at their table were a mixed lot. Five men and only one woman. They were drinking, and eating, relaxed.

“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” Rufus said.

Something tugged at Elara’s consciousness.

“Can’t complain,” Hugh said.

“We’ve worked a castle once. In Cincinnati,” one of the guardsmen offered.

“Ah, yes, the Cus.. Ces… What the hell was that fellah’s name?” Rufus wrinkled his forehead.

“Cousteau,” the lone female guard supplied.

“That’s right.”

Here it was again, a faint tug.

“Excuse me.” Elara rose from the table.

Hugh caught her hand. “Where are you going, pumpkin?”

To cast a death spell that will sear your eyes from their sockets. “Somewhere you can’t come with me.” She winked. “To the room down the hallway with the word LADIES on the door.”

He let go. “Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t.”

Elara walked away. Behind her, Rufus said in what he probably thought was his confidential voice, “You’re a lucky man, Preceptor. No offense.”

“Oh I am,” Hugh said. “I am.”

She was one hundred percent sure he was watching her backside as she was walking away. Elara put an extra wiggle into it. Eat your heart out.

In the hallway, she turned left, walked through a door, and ran up the flight of stone stairs to the hidden balcony. Savannah stood in the shadows, watching the room. From the floor this area was practically invisible.

“What is it?” Savannah asked.